


Last

by Emolga



Category: Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Aerith being dead, Avalanche, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-13
Updated: 2013-09-13
Packaged: 2017-12-26 11:33:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/965463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emolga/pseuds/Emolga
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The party says their goodbyes to Aerith; Nanaki observes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Last

She was the last of her kind.

Cosmo Canyon’s guardian feels a numbness unlike any other as Tifa kneels beside the stained pink dress, her legs reddening as the blood that gathers around them washes against her skin. It would be all too easy to turn his blind eye toward the sight and be rid of it, but he knows that she deserves better, that her memory should be honored in full until their minds return to the Planet just like she’s doing now — so he watches with one eye straining and burning as Tifa brings her shaking fingers to where Aerith’s bangs have fallen into disarray, battle-hardened digits curving delicately against the soft hair. She straightens out the tangled tresses, mindful of how displeased her friend would be about the mess if she was still breathing; then her hand travels towards soft skin, sliding down the side of the Cetra’s face and over the curve of her cheek before gently cupping the spade of her chin. As expected, Aerith does not respond — does not smile, does not laugh and bat the hand away with a roll of her eyes.

His sensitive ears, dog-like and perked, detect the speeding of Tifa’s pulse and the catching of her breath without consciously trying, and he knows all too well that tears are inevitable. She bites her lip, dampness rising up and coating the surface of her eyes; then her spare hand clenches into a fist so violent that it bites cleanly through the leather of her gloves, veins standing out along the muscles of her arm. In one swift motion she’s returned to her feet, both fist and wrist alike hiding her eyes from sight — then she’s gone from his limited vision, running down the steps to the altar and leaving droplets of blood in her wake. Nanaki suspects that she might be feeling ill — either that, or she considers her tears a private matter — and does not follow.

Barret steps forward next, his large form quaking before he has the chance to look their fallen comrade in the face. He comes to a stop before her, his barrel-chest filling up with a breath which Nanaki expects to be expelled in a series of furious expletives; in actuality it’s exhaled without a single spoken word, and his arms sink down to his sides in the same motion like he suddenly can’t bear the weight of them, gunpowder from their recent battle speckling the silver of his canon. He only watches Aerith for a few lingering moments before the sight of her bathed in sanguine hues becomes too much, at which point he turns towards Cloud, his eyebrows meeting at the center of his forehead.

Nanaki turns his one good eye to Cloud in tandem and finds that his face has become utterly impassive with the barest hint of hysteria edging into the wideness of his gaze. His stricken expression frightens the still-young protector of the Planet, and he quickly looks away, thereby missing the tenderness of Barret’s gesture as he sets the canon against the smaller man’s shoulder and gives Aerith one final stare in wordless parting.

While Barret’s large footfalls outline new puddles of crimson against the steps, Cid approaches Aerith’s body as well (because corpse is too strong a word,) his boots dragging against once-clean stone. He hasn’t known her long — a few days at most, or perhaps it’s been weeks now — but Nanaki can practically scent the richness of his emotion as he sets a gloved hand to his hip and turns his face towards the sky, eyes squinting and teeth grinding against a cigarette that shakes with nerves. He, too, departs after only the briefest of hesitations, muttering a few choice words under his smoke-clogged breath as the bloody evidence of his descent runs together with the rest.

Somewhat unexpectedly, Vincent steps forward next. He walks so closely to Aerith’s slumped-over form that his cloak brushes her skin, the worn material nearly matching the hue which still seeps from her paling flesh; then he looks down at her, eyes flashing with something unreadable, and moves away to stand before Cloud like a much-needed distraction. Nanaki’s tail flips without his permission as the ex-SOLDIER stirs into consciousness from the depths of his grief-induced trance, the glow of his eyes meeting Vincent’s automatically — and an unspoken brand of understanding passes between them like a crackle of electricity, the significance of which Nanaki doubts either of them can fully comprehend. The quiet flutter of the black-haired man’s clothing heralds his departure, and no one dares speak a word to stop him, even if he should desire to keep walking past the stairs and out of their lives for good. (However, Nanaki doubts that he will: If the flash of emotion within his stern gaze was any indication, the communal investment in the Planet’s crisis now runs ever-deeper for all of them, Vincent included.)

The retreating swell of Vincent’s cape reveals that Yuffie has timidly edged towards Aerith at long last, her fingers gathered at her chest as if she fears the Ancient may spring back to life simply to give her a good scare. She stands beside Aerith’s stilled legs like she’s waiting for something, head bowed and hands clasped; by the time Nanaki realizes she might be praying she’s already abandoned her post in order to walk towards Cloud, shoes issuing macabre squeaks due to the gathering of blood beneath her feet. For a while she merely stares him in the face, her breaths deep and rhythmic as she drops her arms beside her and fidgets uncomfortably — then she begins to come undone and, like with Tifa before her, Nanaki hears her breath starting to catch and her heart starting to squeeze within her chest before her tears can escape. The dam breaks explosively, and Yuffie _collapses_ ; Cloud catches her on instinct, bewilderment cutting cleanly through the haze of his distress, and she cries until she’s screaming into his sweater, her face angry-red and streaked with tears.

Nanaki’s ears twist downwards with discomfort. He’s never seen anyone cry like that before, and the sensory overload of her despairing shrieks combined with the scent of gore is turning his tongue sour in his mouth.

The young ninja tires quickly once her sobbing peaks, and she draws away from Cloud in a single jerking motion, her body quavering as she struggles to catch her breath. Once she’s calmed herself adequately she sprints away like she plans on leaving everything behind, light footsteps echoing in the chamber until she suddenly trips and falls hard onto the hard surface below (at least, that’s what it sounds like; for all he knows she could have purposely flung herself down in a fit of anger.) From the platform above Nanaki can detect hints of Cid — and Vincent, which surprises him yet again — muttering words of consolation to her, as if they truly believed that anything they could say would help. She’s started crying again, the signs of her lingering grief creating a catastrophic cacophony with the sound of Tifa choking on her own breath.

He blocks it out, because it can’t be helped.

Only three have yet to pay tribute. Nanaki turns his good eye to Cait Sith, who’s predictably still perched atop his overstuffed companion, pointed ears drooping and gloved hands wobbling unsteadily over the top of his mount’s broad head. Cat and Mog alike are rooted to their spot, both equally unsure of themselves and still horrified by what they’ve witnessed — and with Cloud still staring wide-eyed like his soul’s been ripped from his body, Nanaki realizes that his number is finally being called by the woman in pink.

He begins thinking back on the time they’ve spent together in spite of himself, starting from the moment they were thrown into a glass container by a lunatic in a lab coat.

 _I knew you weren’t going to do it_ , he remembers her saying later with a knowing smile, voicing the solution to his concern without him ever having to speak it aloud. Even if she knew — even if she trusted him — he never actually apologized for the brutish act he put on to ensure their escape… He feels his throat constrict and swallows to keep the sensation at bay, pinpricks stinging along the edge of his one-eyed gaze.

She is — was — so kind to him, in spite of everything.

The last of the Cetra is dead. Nanaki knows all too well what it feels like to be alone in the world, a feared and magical being living as a relic during the age of man — but he never had the chance to tell her, never had the opportunity to explain that he understood the burden she carried in the depths of her heart. All he can do is shake his head in silent lamentation, his mane falling from side to side with the motion as he bitterly contemplates what could have been.

There will be no tears from him today. Warriors do not cry for their dead; they only cry for the living whom they cannot help.

He rises up to all-fours, curved nails and travel-worn pads scraping against the reflective surface underfoot. The weight of his body sways as he makes for the stairs, gait unsteady as if his sadness has made him heavier; but he pauses before he has the chance to alight onto the topmost step, reclining back onto his haunches in a final moment of hesitation.

There is one last thing he can do for her.

With his nose raised towards the sky, he draws in a deep breath and offers a single suspended note to the lights above, howling until his lungs are empty in a sign of mourning reserved for only the bravest of warriors who have fallen in battle.

She was the last of her kind; he is among the last of his, and no one will ever know how he feels, how she _felt._

He chokes back a sob and slinks down the steps with his head lowered, silently rejoining the others as the tail end of his tribute to Aerith fades into obscurity.

**Author's Note:**

> ... |||orz
> 
> I hate that Aerith is dead I hate it so MUCH.
> 
> I also really love Nanaki and resent the lack of fic for him on a deeply personal level.
> 
> (Btw, I didn't include Cait Sith because his silly little dance seems better-suited as the last "reaction" to occur. Nanaki's downstairs by then, so he doesn't see it, but it still happens.)


End file.
